


What’s In A Name

by Surka



Series: Flashbacks and Sass [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Band Fic, Humor, M/M, Oblivious Jean-Jacques Leroy, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27501283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Surka/pseuds/Surka
Summary: Yuri and Otabek move in together, unpack together, and learn about how Otabek formed a band with Leo de la Iglesia and JJ Leroy together while they were all training in Colorado Springs. Rated M for swearing (expletives work as punctuation, right?) and explicit mention of sexual acts and/or bodily fluids.
Relationships: Otabek Altin & Leo de la Iglesia & Jean-Jacques Leroy, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Series: Flashbacks and Sass [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009860
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23





	What’s In A Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taedae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taedae/gifts), [venom_for_free](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venom_for_free/gifts).



> This my first time writing creatively in a long time. It’s also my first time posting on AO3. A big thank you to all of the fanfic writers that have been keeping me entertained for the past year and a half. An extra big thank you to Taedae and Venom-For-Free for encouraging me to write and for beta reading for me. Thank you to plisetskyonice and zjofierose for helping me brainstorm musical influences. Thank you to Sophie_skates_reads, venom_for_free, kinkyspn, MadamRed, KailynMei, and To_Matt_Oh for letting me harness your creative chaos that inspired this fic.

🇰🇿🇷🇺🇰🇿🇷🇺🇰🇿🇷🇺

_ [2019-04-01; St. Petersburg, Russia. Yuri Plisetsky is 18; Otabek Altin is 20] _

Yuri Plisetsky, newly minted World Champion Male Figure Skater, lusty boyfriend, co-signer on his very first apartment, and smug cat parent, flops backwards onto a mound of garbage bags full of clothing. The apartment looks more like a child’s playground of box towers than a home, but at least Potya is enjoying her cardboard jungle. The ceiling is a bland beige color, but Yuri takes a moment to trace the popcorn texture with his eyes just to take a step back from the overwhelming changes. Otabek, lusty boyfriend, co-signer of his first apartment in St. Petersburg, proud motorcycle owner, and World’s Male Figure Skating Silver Medalist, walks out of the bedroom and kneels next to Yuri. There’s a crinkle next to his left eye that means he’s smirking at Yuri’s pain.

“Got something to say, asshole?”

“I’ve got sheets on the bed and Potya is set for food, water, and her litter box. Do you want to take a break? We  _ do  _ have the rest of this evening and all of tomorrow to unpack all of this.”

“Fuck. I just really need to stretch out the kinks from moving all of those fucking boxes. Aren’t you sore?”

Otabek shrugs and gives him a small grunt. Yuri coughs out a laugh and takes that response as affirmative. 

“Then come help me stretch. You know where the lube is packed?”

Otabek just stands up and Yuri follows him into the bedroom. An hour later, Yuri strolls out, a persistent Cheshire grin belying his slight limp. Otabek strides past him, beelining for where the small bathroom trash bin is packed so he can dispose of the condom. The blond turns on the club mix playlist on Otabek’s laptop and stretches out the worst of the kinks from moving and bottoming. He leaves the music on as he moves to the kitchen, shimmying his shoulders to the music as he pulls cups out of the first box. Otabek watches him for a minute, absentmindedly hugging the trash bin to his chest. 

“The fuck, Beka? You run out of juice already?”

“Nope.”

Otabek rests the bin on the kitchen counter on his way to hug Yuri from behind, grinding their hips together along to the beat.

“Get off me, you horny fucker!” The rebuke would be more effective if Yuri wasn’t laughing and tilting his head to the side to make more room for Otabek’s mouth on his neck. 

Otabek chuckles and pulls himself away enough to crack open a second kitchen box. He leans over Yuri to put away plates, glassware, silverware, pots, and spice bottles in the cabinets. It becomes a game as Otabek tries to sneak kisses and then dodge Yuri’s smacking hands. Finally Yuri boots him out with a peck on the cheek. 

“If you want to get back in the bedroom so bad, put some clothes away! And take the bin with your cum dump with you!”

“Ha ha ha I’m so glad your bedroom isn’t down the hall from Lilia anymore!”

“Ha you and me both! And she won’t be able to interrupt me sucking you off later tonight either! So git!”

Otabek’s laughter and the crinkling of plastic bags disappears into the bedroom. Yuri moves onto some boxes of personal effects so he can dig out toiletries. The toothbrushes and most of the bottles find homes easily, but there isn’t enough counter space for all of their products. He could take the time now to organize everything in a way that it will be easy and intuitive to find and retrieve each object. Yuri hesitates approximately ten seconds before shoving everything onto a shelf in the linen closet to be tomorrow’s problem. 

Yuri returns to the mostly empty box so he can flatten it and get it out of the way. Nestled with a book and an alarm clock is a CD jewelcase. Yuri pulls out the case curiously, not sure why Otabek would keep it with his bedroom stuff and not his music supplies. The cover is an eye catching colored pencil design of ribbons, gold medals, over… are those deconstructed faces? Those bright blue eyes really shouldn’t be so close to someone’s...his own? lips, but the design certainly catches the eye even if it’s a bit busy. He flips it over. Simple yellow text on black lists the band name, Golden Boiz, and the song list. Who were they? He carefully opens the case — a corner of the plastic is cracked — and the CD is there, yellow text on black looking just like the back cover, so Yuri teases out the thick liner notes. 

The first inside page is a picture of three young teenagers, younger than him anyway, sitting on the cement front stoop of a beige brick house with an almost fluorescent purple front door. The one with a ponytail and holding a guitar irritates Yuri because he feels like his name is just on the tip of his tongue. The one in the middle holding a microphone has a black bowl cut but he recognizes those vivid blue eyes and that obnoxious smirk. No… Yuri looks to the third boy and the dark brown eyes staring down the camera are even more identifiable than the deadpan expression. Strange haircut aside, that’s Otabek. Or a damned close relative! But who else in Otabek’s family had ever even been in the same room as fucking JJ Leroy?

“Hey Beka?”

“Mmm?” 

Otabek pokes his head out of the bedroom, a tiger striped tie dangling from his mouth and his hands full of a hanger tangled up in narrow strips of purple and animal print. Yuri snorts a giggle and pulls the tie out of the way for a kiss. 

“So I found this in your stuff? When did you ever spend enough time with fucking JJ to put out an album with him?”

“He and I stayed with Leo’s uncle five or six years ago when I was training in the US. Yuri, I lived with the Leroys in Quebec the year after that. Didn’t you know?”

“I knew you were in Canada but I thought that was a big enough fucking country that you wouldn’t have to live in the same house with that asshole.”

“We shared a room.”

The taunting sparkle in Otabek’s eyes shouldn’t be fucking allowed. 

“Oh my fuck you shared a room with him?!”

“All three years.”

“What the fuck, Altin?!”

“It really wasn’t that bad.”

“Are you fucking serious?!”

“Okay the second summer was pretty bad.”

“What. The fuck.”

“Just don’t think about him, Yura. Let’s stop and go to bed,” Otabek tosses the tie rack to the side and leans in for a hug. Yuri harrumphs and turns around but doesn't stop Otabek from wrapping him in his arms. 

“Come on, let’s go to bed.”

“Stop it with the hips, Altin, there’s been too much talk of JJ for any of that. Any arousal I had has just been buried in the Pit of Despair. And peed on.”

“Would you like to hear about the band I formed with he-who-shall-not-be-named?”

Yuri looks down at the colorful mess of ties on the floor, hiding a smile, and he doesn’t say anything. He leans back against Otabek’s strong, broad chest and pulls his arms tighter around him. Fortunately, that’s more than enough of an answer for his boyfriend so that Yuri doesn’t actually have to  _ say _ that he wants to hear stories about JJ.

“All right,” Otabek kisses Yuri’s brow, “But let’s get comfortable on the bed first.”

_ 🇰🇿🇨🇦🇺🇸🇰🇿🇨🇦🇺🇸 _

_ [2013-05-01; Colorado Springs, Colorado, USA. Otabek Altin is 14; Jean-Jacques Leroy is 15; Leo De La Iglesia is 15] _

Otabek rubbed his forehead against his knee, his leggings damp and warm despite the chill of the ice still clinging to his socks. He reached past his toes and pushed Leo’s foot at least a few centimeters further away; his own body odor was potent but Leo’s feet post workout were absolutely rank. The American skater adjusted his position without comment. He was focused on his on-going debate with JJ, who formed the third side of their stretching triangle. 

“Nickelback is such a hack band.”

“Nuh-uh. You’re just saying that because they’re Canadian.”

“Am not. I like plenty of bands that aren’t Canadian and I’ll call them shit if they’re shit. Like Bieber.”

“If Nickelback is so shit, how are their songs so catchy? I’ve even caught you singing along, Leo!”

“They’re hacks because they pretended to be a hardcore metal band but their songs are generic and could fit in almost any genre. Including Country!”

The animated debate paused as all three skaters relaxed the stretch and walked their fingers over to the other side. They breathed slowly and deliberately for a few seconds and Otabek felt the aches in his back, groin, and hamstrings settle to a low buzz. His fingers tapped out a pattern on the bottom of his foot while he waited for Leo and JJ to rehash this argument for the fourth time this week. And it was only Wednesday.

“So? They have wide appeal. It’s smart marketing.”

“But it’s—their songs are—they have no soul! You’re supposed to write music that reveals a part of yourself, JJ. Where you make yourself vulnerable!”

“You seemed plenty vulnerable when you were singing along with ‘How You Remind Me’!”

“Shut up, jerk!”

“Their marketing is just that good. It’s a trend to hate them and they’ve just turned it into good press. You’re following a trend after all, you hipster. How’s that feel?”

“I’m not a hipster. I just prefer to listen to music not made by sell-outs.”

“How is being successful selling out? Besides, they laugh at themselves plenty. Their Twitter is hilarious with how they respond to haters.”

“You even follow their Twitter?!”

Leo must have realized how loud he’d gotten because he immediately buried his face between his arms, fingers clenched around his smelly sock. Otabek’s back was to the door but he knew it was Coach Ro because her confident walk and the click of her leather boots were so distinct.

“If you have enough breath to argue, you aren’t stretching enough. All three of you up and give me three laps around the rink then I want you to start these stretches from the beginning!”

“Yes, Coach!” they chorused. The boys rolled to their feet and Otabek jostled Leo and JJ as he pushed past them to set the pace. The way the balls of his feet flattened against the mat-covered concrete was its own kind of satisfying, an aching stretch after hours confined to the tight skates. 

The bounce of his body and the chill of the rink faded away as Otabek found his stride. Unfortunately, the boys behind him found enough breath to talk along with their strides.

“You know, I heard Kroeger, the frontman for Nickelback, can suck his own dick.”

“Really? I thought I was flexible and I can’t manage that.”

“Ew gross, man! I thought I read that he had to remove a few ribs to make it work.”

“That would require way too much time away from skating.”

“THAT is your takeaway from that!?”

Otabek ran faster, putting more distance between himself and their laughter. He reached the studio while they were still half a lap behind. Normally he— 

🇰🇿🇷🇺🇰🇿🇷🇺🇰🇿🇷🇺

_ [2019-04-01; St. Petersburg, Russia. Yuri Plisetsky is 18; Otabek Altin is 20] _

“Oh my god, you had to put up with that nonsense between them for two years?! That’s almost as bad as training with the Old Man and Baba.”

Yuri stretches out, catlike, and pretends that he isn’t watching Otabek’s smirk. He rolls his hips when Otabek slides his warm hand under the hem of his shirt and he arches his back as his boyfriend traces a scorching line from his bellybutton to his sternum. Their feet rub against each other under the covers and Yuri rolls to the side enough to rest his head on Otabek’s shoulder and for Otabek’s hand to slide to the side of his rib cage under his armpit. He is relaxed and the casual physical intimacy makes his skin tingle. Yuri feels a kiss pressed to his hairline and he hides a wide grin in Otabek’s shirt. 

“So go on. How did a debate about Nickelback lead you to form a band of all things?”

The rumble of Otabek’s voice against his forehead soothes Yuri, enough so that the movement of Otabek’s jaw against Yuri’s hairline as he speaks isn’t even worth moving away.

_ 🇰🇿🇨🇦🇺🇸🇰🇿🇨🇦🇺🇸 _

_ [2013-05-01; Colorado Springs, Colorado, USA. Otabek Altin is 14; Jean-Jacques Leroy is 15; Leo De La Iglesia is 15] _

Normally he enjoyed listening to their antics, but this debate was beyond repetitive. Maybe Leo still held out hope that JJ could be convinced to like other music instead — except that JJ had never really been opposed to listening to new music if someone else shared it with him. He just didn’t seek it out himself. Otabek folded himself back down into the stretches. His muscles were nicely warm, but they still hurt just enough and he was hungry, so he started tapping out a complicated rhythm on the matting. It was an odd time signature and required enough concentration to maintain that it made for a nice distraction.

Leo and JJ flumped down gracefully (somehow) next to Otabek and stretched out. He noticed when the other boys bobbed their heads in time with his tapping but he didn’t think anything of it. As one they exhaled and folded into the next stretch. Once he was fully extended, JJ tapped out a basic beat that kept time with Otabek’s. Leo sank deeper into his stretch and hummed an unfamiliar melody that complemented the two rhythms so well. The boys maintained the tapping and humming for another two stretches before JJ attempted to hum out a harmony but it didn’t quite fit. Leo and JJ locked eyes as the Canadian skater tried one for a few measures before moving onto the next and Otabek couldn’t look away. It was like they were conveying huge, complex ideas through their eyes but it was only vibrations in their throats. Leo’s melody changed pitch upward slightly because he couldn’t seem to suppress a tight-lipped smile. 

JJ finally settled on a harmony and Otabek waited a few measures more before switching things up himself. He tapped JJ’s foot and pointed between his tapping fingers and JJ’s hand a few times. He nodded and matched the complex rhythm; it faltered for a few measures but then their fingers locked step. Otabek lifted his hands to his mouth—he tightened his core to maintain the stretch without using his hands for balance—and started beatboxing. Leo’s melody stopped as his jaw dropped but he quickly started scatting his melody with nonsense syllables instead of humming. The boys managed to keep this up through the remaining stretches, pushing deeper than ever. Making music together like this was so exhilarating! It even seemed to deaden the pain in Otabek’s feet. They were so focused that nobody even heard Coach Ro approach.

“Okay, boys, a light jog to shake up your muscles and then shower and go get something to eat.”

All three boys jolted in place and froze. The ambient sounds of the rink flooded back: the rumble of the zamboni, the quiet buzz of the fluorescent lights, the distant hiss of the cooling system. The lack of music was deafening.

They lumbered to their feet and stumbled out into a slow run around the rink. By the time they had circled back around to the studio, however, Leo was already singing words to his melody. Spanish words, but they sounded coherent to Otabek’s ignorant ears. He wondered what they meant. JJ followed Otabek into the locker room, tapping on his shoulder blades. Normally Otabek would be annoyed at this reminder that JJ is taller, but this seemed to be more about not letting the music die. In the showers, JJ picked up his harmony again so Otabek tried to join him with beatboxing but he accidentally sucked water into his lungs and burst out coughing. 

Once he had pulled on his t-shirt and jeans, Otabek joined Jean on harmony and slapped the complex rhythm out on his hip. He interrupted that with a loud percussive solo on his thighs once they reached the stairs outside and he finished it by leaping forward over the steps and he punctuated his stomped landing with two snaps and a clap. JJ and Leo both laughed and applauded before going back to harmony and melodic Spanish with renewed vigor. The boys managed to keep up their impromptu music all the way to the bus stop. Leo and Otabek fell silent as they joined the strangers waiting at the stop and JJ fell silent a few moments later thanks to an elbow to the gut. 

The three claimed the empty seats at the very back of the bus. Otabek couldn’t help noticing the bright euphoric look on JJ’s face, but he pointedly didn’t make eye contact. Leo was smirking but he also seemed content to let JJ stew in his excitement. When the old man sitting nearest to them got off at the next stop, JJ couldn’t seem to hold it in anymore.

“That was fantastic! You both enjoyed that, right?”

“It made stretching go by much more quickly,” Leo said. Otabek nodded.

“I bet we could do more of that! We could start a band!”

“How are we going to have time for a band? School doesn’t let out for another month for me and you both still have online classes and we’re all training still.”

“But Leo, weren’t you saying that you want more creative control over your programs? We could write our own songs!”

Otabek raised an eyebrow at him, “That’s 6 songs, made by 3 busy teenagers, that we need to turn into something award winning. At least I do, if I’m going to help pay for studying abroad.”

“Wouldn’t writing our own songs at least give us a feel for music and help us figure out the directions we want to take our programs? The type of songs we want to find? I know neither of you have figured out songs or themes yet.”

Otabek looked out at the passing cityscape while Leo nodded to himself before speaking, “That’s true. I mean, we will have more time this summer and playing in a band could be fun. I sing in choir at school and in church and I’d like to try singing some other kinds of songs for a change.” 

JJ nodded vigorously, “Right? This could be so much fun and a great experience! What about you, Beks? You’ve got some skills to pull off the rhythms back there.”

Otabek shrugged. He had skating, his martial arts cross training, and online classes that needed to take priority. But… “I play piano and I’ve been teaching myself some percussion, even though I don’t have a drum set. Rhythm work helps with timing on the ice. I have an audio mixing program on my laptop; I like experimenting with stuff like The Prodigy, The Gorillaz, Fatboy Slim, electronica, dubstep, rap... I can match some of the Russian raps I know.”

“Rap? That could be great! We could add rap to some of our songs like the Beastie Boys or Barenaked Ladies!”

Otabek couldn’t keep his jaw from dropping. That’s where JJ was getting his rap? Leo burst out laughing at the other end of the bench. JJ grinned and chuckled but Otabek wasn’t sure that JJ actually understood what Leo was laughing at, which made Otabek feel awkward.

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_ [2019-04-01; St. Petersburg, Russia. Yuri Plisetsky is 18; Otabek Altin is 20] _

“You’re joking, right? No, it’s dumbass JJ, I can completely believe that he’d say something so dumb!”

“Hush, Kitten. Back when you were 15, you knew Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, and ‘music that was not those two,’ isn’t that what you said?”

“I was exaggerating! And I was 15!”

“And JJ was 15. Cut him some slack. Or we could just go to sleep.”

“Noooooo! I want to hear more about JJ being a dumbass!”

_ 🇰🇿🇨🇦🇺🇸🇰🇿🇨🇦🇺🇸 _

_ [2013-05-01; Colorado Springs, Colorado, USA. Otabek Altin is 14; Jean-Jacques Leroy is 15; Leo De La Iglesia is 15] _

Otabek reached across JJ to smack Leo so he would stop braying like a mule, “I was thinking more Centr, Krovostok, Scriptonite, Rammstein, but also N.W.A., Missy Elliott, and, um, Jay-Z from America. But sure, like some Barenaked Ladies songs.”

Leo sniggered to himself a few more times before he managed to compose himself, “So where do you see us setting up our band, JJ?” 

JJ lit up like fireworks, sitting up straight and then leaning forward with his hands animating his words, “I thought we could talk to Uncle Raúl about using some part of his house. He’s always wearing band T-shirts; I’m sure he’d be thrilled to have another band to watch and listen to!”

Otabek stared at JJ, waiting to see if his expression would crack. But no, he genuinely seemed to think that Leo’s uncle would be interested in listening to some amateur kids the same way that he would listen to the albums he kept on CD and vinyl. Plus, Mr. De La Iglesia had been generous about letting him and JJ stay in his spare bedroom while they were training here in Colorado. They hadn’t even been living there a full month and JJ wanted to push the limits of their host’s hospitality? He made eye contact with Leo, but he only shrugged.

“It can’t hurt to ask. This actually sounds like something that my uncle would be into, so why not?”

Otabek tuned JJ out for the remainder of the bus ride; he was talking about venues, places to advertise for their shows, how big their audiences were going to be… and none of that made sense to Otabek. They hadn’t even confirmed that they had a place to practice yet, they didn’t have any songs yet, they hadn’t even figured out if they could play music together for more than one little impromptu stretching session. Why should they spend their energy on the logistics of advertising!? 

They skipped Leo’s usual stop. He mentioned that he had a guitar in his room, but that he could go and get it another time because they needed to talk to his uncle first. That made sense to Otabek, although he had to admit that JJ’s enthusiasm made him hope that Mr. De La Iglesia would say yes. 

A few minutes later and they were walking the remaining two blocks under a sun that was still high in the sky at 8pm. Leo still had school in the morning so likely he would stay the night and catch an early bus. JJ led the way inside and beelined for the kitchen where Raúl De La Iglesia was standing at the stove sautéing some tilapia fillets in one pan and stirring a vegetable stir fry in another pan. Otabek had protested the first week that they could take care of their own meals but he had insisted, saying that he knew how hard his nephew worked and having regular, home cooked meals on weeknights would help JJ and Otabek feel at home. And keep them out of trouble, he had added. 

“Uncle Raúl! We had a great idea after practice today! We should—“

“JJ, he’s not your uncle. Thank you for cooking for us, Mr. De La Iglesia,” Otabek spoke quickly. He had elbowed JJ just to get that much said.

“That’s all right, Otabek. I told you both that you could call me Uncle if you wanted. I’m trying out a new spice mix with these vegetables and I would appreciate you telling me what you think!”

Leo grinned, “I’m sure it’ll be great. Is that some early asparagus?”

“Sure is! Now what was that idea, JJ?”

JJ went from pouting to glowing so quickly it gave Otabek whiplash, “So we were stretching after practice and started tapping out a rhythm and humming and singing together and it sounded AMAZING for something that we hadn’t ever tried before! We all love music, not just for skating, we all play instruments, and we’re about to have more free time together once Leo’s school lets out in a few weeks. So what could be more perfect than to form a band!”

Uncle Raúl turned away from the stove and looked at the three of them for a moment. “Playing as a band takes a lot of time and commitment, but it can be a great experience. Leo was just whining last week about how he’s tired of singing the same songs over and over in church and school.”

“Uncle Raúl, I was not _ whining! _ ” 

“Could have fooled me,” Uncle Raúl sounded more like an older brother than an adult when he teased Leo like this. 

“ _ Anyway _ , Uncle Raúl, we were wondering if we could use your basement to practice in. We really don’t have space at my house.”

“Let me think. Are you going to get sound equipment, like amps and microphones?”

JJ answered before Leo and Otabek could even comprehend the question. “Of course! We’re going to sound amazing, of course, but we need the right stuff to make sure everyone can hear us!”

“Makes sense. I went over the wiring in the basement when I purchased the house last year and it’s sound, but won’t be able to support much amperage unless I completely overhauled the basement. I think a band is a cool idea but I’m not going to do a home renovation project for you. I’m still renovating the room upstairs into my office. But… if we removed the washer and dryer from the basement for the summer, you would have more room to practice and the sound equipment should be safe to plug in down there if it’s not competing with other appliances. The catch is that no washer/dryer, no laundry. You boys take care of our laundry, mine included, at your house Leo, and it’s a deal.”

“How are we going to get the laundry moved? On the bus?”

“You’ve got your driving permit, Leo. Wouldn’t your dad let you borrow the spare car now that your older brother’s moved out?”

“I guess… I’ll have to ask him.”

JJ was practically vibrating on his stool as they sat at the counter, “See?! Everything’s working out! We can talk about what sort of songs we can write and play while we do laundry! It’s perfect!”

Otabek focused on his meal. Admittedly, he was excited to use his piano and percussion skills. Yes, to show them off, too. And he would be lying if he said he didn’t have ideas for songs. Maybe… maybe this was a good idea after all. Because making that song together earlier out of thin air had been nothing short of exhilarating.

After dinner, JJ and Uncle Raúl insisted that Otabek and Leo both help with taking the washer and dryer out to the shed and then deep cleaning the basement. That night. Uncle Raúl really was the most cheerful slave driver. Leo finally begged off because he had to finish his homework and set up his bed in Otabek and JJ’s room for the night. JJ had the  _ worst _ ideas.

🇰🇿🇷🇺🇰🇿🇷🇺🇰🇿🇷🇺

_ [2019-04-02; St. Petersburg, Russia. Yuri Plisetsky is 18; Otabek Altin is 20] _

“Ha! Yeah he does! JJ’s the WORST! Like, who decides to have his parents be his coaches?”

“...They were ice dancers for years, Yuri. They were  _ my _ coaches for a year, too.”

“But at least they weren’t your  _ parents!  _ They let him use his own  _ theme song _ as his free skate!” 

“...Yuri do you want your own theme song?”

“Wha—no! NO! I don’t want to be like him!”

Yuri glared at Otabek’s minuscule smirk. “I DON’T WANT MY OWN THEME SONG!”

Otabek rolled up onto his elbow so he was looming over Yuri but the blond didn’t shrink back or reduce his glare by a single degree. He didn’t inhale sharply or shiver when Otabek leaned down and whispered in his ear, either, “I think you protest too much, Yura. Are you jealous of JJ?”

“Fuck YOU, Beka!”

“What if I wrote a song for you?”

“Fuck no I don’t want a pity song from you, you asshole!”

Otabek had the nerve to look hurt. “Why do you think I would write a song for you out of pity?”

Yuri crossed his arms and refused to answer. 

Otabek leaned back over him. “Yuri, you are one of the fiercest, most determined people I have ever met. You have done everything that you’ve truly put your mind toward. You inspire me and I would love to write your theme song.”

Yuri huffed and turned a little further away.

Otabek leaned down to whisper in Yuri’s ear again. Yuri would be lying if he said he didn’t secretly love when he did that. 

“Yura,” he breathed, raising goosebumps up and down Yuri’s neck, before his voice changed to mimic one of the videos from Yuri’s Angels that was so obnoxious it had become its own meme, “ _ you’re my hero!” _

Yuri rolled back over, his face grimacing in a bizarre combination of a snarl and a giggle. “FUCK YOU, ALTIN!” He used the momentum of his roll to swing his pillow down on Otabek’s head full force. 

The pillow fight lasted a full 10 minutes before Otabek surrendered, properly beaten into submission. 

_ 🇰🇿🇨🇦🇺🇸🇰🇿🇨🇦🇺🇸 _

_ [2013-05-02; Colorado Springs, Colorado, USA. Otabek Altin is 14; Jean-Jacques Leroy is 15; Leo De La Iglesia is 15] _

“What about JJ and the Kings?”

“I mean, it’s better than your last two suggestions, but no! We’re not your backup singers!”

“It’s just a name! And aren’t we trying to become kings of the ice? What about Leo and the Kings?”

Otabek practiced jumps on the other side of the rink and yet he could hear the argument between JJ and Leo clear as day. 

“I don’t want to be a frontman and you and Otabek aren’t my back up singers. So let’s nix any band names that are someone’s name and the blank.”

“Blank?”

“Fill in the blank.”

“This is a test?”

“No!”

Otabek managed to get through a single, double, triple lutz sequence twice before he heard Leo speak again. He had told JJ and Leo that he didn’t want to be involved in the band name discussion until there were a few names they could agree on because the arguing got to be a bit much, but he still wanted to keep tabs on how the discussion was going. He started skating a basic pattern to make it easier to eavesdrop since Leo wasn’t raising his voice as much.

“It’s the format of the name. Someone’s name and the.”

Otabek assumed that Leo was making a gesture to indicate the empty blank, but he didn’t want to look up and check.

“Ok, that makes sense. Uh, thanks. But what was wrong with the last two names? You never actually said.”

“Well, ‘Kingdom of JJ’ either sounds like a riff on a Christian rock band or makes you sound really, and I mean really-really, full of yourself.”

“It’s just a name.”

“Yeah, but choosing the right name is important because that’s the main way we’ll be selling our music and our image to the public. I thought that was important to you since you spent the entire time moving the washer and dryer last night also talking about advertising.”

“It is! It is important. I just didn’t think that this part would be difficult. Okay, what did you not like about ‘Rock n J’?”

“I mean, the name doesn’t roll off the tongue in a great way and again, it’s all about you.”

“And you didn’t like the Maple Leafs because that’s already a trademarked sports team.”

“Aaaaand it’s also all about you. Maple leaves are about Canada. Otabek and I aren’t from Canada.”

“Okay. Okay. I’m going to think of some more names.”

Otabek made space for JJ and nodded as he came over to work on his toe loop jumps. He didn’t particularly have many ideas for band names. His English was good, but so many bands seemed to be named random English words that didn’t make much sense to him and he didn’t think that suggesting Kazakh or Russian words would be particularly helpful. So he focused on the rhythm found in the twizzles he put between a series of double axels. The slicing, shirring punctuation of his skates sounded like the backbone for a melody he had been playing with earlier that day. After his morning run but before he worked on his online schooling. And again, during martial arts, the shouts, footstomps, and air whistling past his fists during his forms had felt like their own kind of rhythm, melody, and harmony. He couldn’t wait to get back home to his laptop and keyboard.

_ 🇰🇿🇨🇦🇺🇸🇰🇿🇨🇦🇺🇸 _

_ [2013-05-04; Colorado Springs, Colorado, USA. Otabek Altin is 14; Jean-Jacques Leroy is 15; Leo De La Iglesia is 15] _

“Are you going to help fold clothes or not?”

“Not. I’m working on some band name designs.”

“Why are you working on the designs when we haven’t even picked the name yet? And are those my sister’s colored pencils?”

“She said I could borrow them!”

Otabek flapped the bedsheet at Leo to get his attention and his friend sighed before helping him fold the sheet. The washer was gurgling and swishing and the dryer was rumbling; a small pile of colored pencils on top of the dryer rattled in a pleasant counterpoint. He and Leo folded the rest of the sheets and blankets and then leaned against the wall next to JJ. There was still another 10 minutes before the next load would be out of the dryer and in the meantime they could check out what JJ was doing.

As soon as they came close, however, JJ flipped his sketchbook closed and hugged it to his chest. 

“We can’t see what you’re working on?”

“I thought that if you could see how good the name would look with a design, then you’d be more likely to agree to it.”

Looking between JJ and Leo’s faces, Otabek could see that Leo was conflicted. JJ had been the only one coming up with band names and Leo had been doing all of the turning down so the process had not exactly been… a collaboration. 

“I think that’s a good thought, JJ,” Otabek offered, like an olive branch. “You’ve been putting a lot of thought and effort into this. Can we see what you’ve got so far?”

JJ nodded reluctantly and flipped his sketchbook back open. He flipped back a page and turned it around to display a very colorful design, bright lines and swirls surrounding white graffiti style bubble letters: JJUICY!!! 

Otabek recoiled in horror.

Leo coughed and cleared his throat. 

JJ looked between both of them as the rumbling silence stretched on. 

Finally JJ pulled the sketchbook back and flipped to the next page, “I guess you don’t like that one. But what about this!?”

The page was half purple, like an unfinished fleur-de-lis wallpaper behind huge yellow block letters. 

“Ass-pirates Royce?” Otabek cringed at his attempt to pronounce the letters. They weren’t English. He could hear Leo choking next to him but didn’t look. Asshole. 

JJ smiled and nodded, “Aspirants Rois! Because we are aspiring to be kings of the ice!”

“From a marketing standpoint, non-English words aren’t going to help us much. And the fact that Otabek mispronounced it as ass pirates by accident has me concerned.”

JJ looked like he was about to argue but he was cut off by the dryer’s loud buzzer. Otabek rushed past him to open the dryer, eager to nip that argument in the butt. 

Leo brought over an empty basket and the two of them scooped Uncle Raúl’s clothes into it. Leo dropped the full basket in front of JJ, who seemed to have been mourning his sketchbook. 

“We’re going to fold this basket together and get this job done faster, okay?”

Otabek moved the load from the washer to the dryer and joined the other two boys. That was fortunately the last load of the night. 

JJ beelined for the t-shirts and Leo seemed to be focusing on the jeans, so Otabek picked out the underwear and socks and folded them into neat stacks next to him. Leo was humming and the dryer was rumbling, but otherwise the basement was peaceful again.

“This is perfect!”

Peace broken.

JJ was holding up a neon pink t-shirt with “Golden Boys” glittering across the front. He shook it again, just to make sure Leo and Otabek were looking. “Wouldn’t Golden Boys be perfect? We’re all going for gold. We’ve all won at least one gold in juniors and we’re planning on charging into seniors guns blazing. It’s perfect!”

Otabek and Leo looked at each other. Leo cocked his head and Otabek answered it with a shrug. 

“All right. Let’s change the spelling a bit to avoid copyright issues, though, ok? What about Golden B-O-Y-Z?”

“How about Golden B-O-I-Z?”

“I’m good with that.”

“Me too.”

“WE HAVE A NAME!”

Leo and JJ whooped and hollered in celebration and Otabek joined them in the high fives. A few minutes later the basement door opened and some rapid fire Spanish rained down, but Otabek thought it sounded irritated. Leo apologized back in Spanish and grinned at them sheepishly.

“Mamá said my sister’s doing homework so we should keep it down.”

JJ giggled and cheered in a stage whisper. Otabek tossed a pair of Uncle Raúl’s briefs at his face.

_ 🇰🇿🇨🇦🇺🇸🇰🇿🇨🇦🇺🇸 _

_ [2013-05-05; Colorado Springs, Colorado, USA. Otabek Altin is 14; Jean-Jacques Leroy is 15; Leo De La Iglesia is 15] _

Otabek sprinted across the ice, trying to keep ahead of Leo as they skimmed across the rink. JJ was late, so Coach Ro had them racing each other in figure eights in the meantime. Leo had taken the lead initially, but Otabek soon overtook him and was determined to keep the lead. 

“I’m here! Sorry I’m late!”

Otabek heard JJ, but didn’t look because he didn’t want to lose momentum and give Leo an edge. 

It took Coach Ro calling them both in before they gave it up. Otabek even shouldered Leo out of the way so he could get to the boards first. By the time they got there they were both laughing and pulling each other back but Otabek got his fingers on the board first even if Leo’s body was in front. It counted!

“Ha ha JJ what kept yo…” Leo’s voice died as he finally looked at the Canadian. JJ beamed at them but he waited for their coach to issue their instructions before saying anything. JJ’s skin was… darker with a strange tint to it. Except it looked odd around his eyes, like the color was only make up that didn’t get onto his eyelids. Otabek didn’t know what to make of it.

They had to wait until after suicides, a contest for who could do the most twizzles in 5 minutes, and jumping practice before the boys finally got a chance to talk.

“Do you like it? Now we’re all golden! Golden Boiz!”

“Um… I mean, it looks okay… but aren’t you going to get plenty of sun this summer?”

“Not if we’re busy practicing in the basement! So I wanted to make sure we all looked good! Seriously, you both look amazing! What studio do you go to?”

Otabek was so confused. “Studio?” he asked, “...what kind of studio? For what?”

“For your tans! You look amazing! I got a spray tan because I was impatient, but I know tanning beds can give your more even results. I thought it looked pretty good but it doesn’t compare to your skin tones.”

Leo had his face in his hands. “JJ… what… are you serious?”

“Um, yes? Isn’t it great?”

Otabek was still confused. He’d never understood why people risked skin cancer for a tan in the first place. Back in Kazakhstan, people tended to have a more uniform skin color than here in the states but it wasn’t anything special. There weren’t nearly as many salons, much less tanning salons there as what he saw here. At least he didn’t think so. Maybe the neon signs here made them stick out more. 

Leo sighed, “JJ, you do understand that Otabek and I were born this way? We haven’t been to any studios. We haven’t been on any tanning beds and we haven’t used any sprays.”

“Really? I’m so jealous!”

“Um… there is a bit of a problem with it, JJ. The fact that you’re trying to look like us. The US treats people of color differently here and not usually in good ways. You’ve heard the term ‘racial profiling’ in the news, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard it.”

Otabek bit his lip. JJ’s statement didn’t give him much hope that he understood the term as much as he recognized it. But now Otabek knew where Leo was going, at least. It took a few years of traveling internationally before he realized why Americans gave him stares in airports but didn’t get the same kind of stares in other countries. It made things scary for him, but he just wanted to keep his head down and skate.

Leo nodded at JJ’s blank face, “So racial profiling means that authority figures suspect people with darker skin, even when there’s nothing wrong. There’s a lot wrong with it. And that’s just an example of the racism in this country. And in Canada too, I bet, but I just know how bad it can get here. The point is that you getting a tan specifically to look like us could mean that you’re making fun of us.”

“What? I’m not making fun of you!”

“I’m just saying it can be taken that way. I mean, get a tan if you want, it’s a free country, but PLEASE don’t turn our skin into a gimmick for the band, ok?”

JJ looked scared, maybe even close to tears. “Do you feel the same way, Otabek?”

“Yeah, I mean, what Leo said. Get a tan if you want to, but don’t use it as advertising for the band. It feels cheap. And maybe you should just try sunning outside because this makes your eyes look weird.”

🇰🇿🇷🇺🇰🇿🇷🇺🇰🇿🇷🇺

_ [2019-04-02; St. Petersburg, Russia. Yuri Plisetsky is 18; Otabek Altin is 20] _

“Hahaha JJ got OWNED! Little baby Beka told HIM!”

Yuri grins widely as he feels Beka shake and curl more tightly around him. That’s how adult Otabek giggled. Oh how he wishes he knew how baby Beka sounded when he let him laugh freely.

“JJ deserves every single smackdown from baby Beka!” The silent shaking stills, which makes Yuri frown. He can  _ feel _ Otabek giving him the side eye but he doesn’t bother turning around to check.

“You’ve said some pretty racist things yourself, Yura.”

“Yeah?! Name one, asshole!”

“Yesterday you cracked that joke about skin tone and dick size.”

“Uh-huh, that’s a fact, not a joke. I like to think I’ve got some pretty nice evidence right here!” Yuri glories in the reactions he can feel and hear behind him as he gropes Beka’s beautiful cock. 

“YURA!”

“Bwahahaha!”

They giggle together, but both of them are too tired to take it in a more heated direction. Finally Yuri flops down across his boyfriend, nuzzling his nose against Otabek’s neck. 

“I wonder what other blasts from your past are in your boxes.”

“Not much. I bet JJ kept almost all of it.”

“Sweet!”

“...but that means you would have to ask him for it.”

“FUCK!”

“OW! No more biting tonight!”

**Author's Note:**

> If you giggle or chuckle at all while reading this, I’m glad you enjoyed it! Please give me a shout to let me know what parts were the funniest. What do you think Phichit and Guang Hong said when the band performed at Skate Camp in Detroit that summer?


End file.
